MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. Taken in America, 1923. [ Nelson Evans, Los Angeles. MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES BY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE WITH ILLUSTRATIONS NON -REFER! SwVAP • QjS BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1924 Copyright, 192-i, By Arthur Conan Doyue All rights reserved Published September, 1924 223 X> 77z PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CONTENTS CHAPTER I Early Recollections . Extraction — “ H.B.” — Four Remarkable Brothers — My Mother’s Family Tree — An Unrecognized Genius — My First Knockout — Thackeray — The Fenians — Early Reading — My First Story. II Under the Jesuits . The Preparatory School — The Mistakes of Educa¬ tion — Spartan Schooling — Corporal Punishment — Well-known School Fellows — Gloomy Forecasts — Poetry — London Matriculation — German School — A Happy Year — The Jesuits — Strange Arrival in Paris. III Recollections op a Student ... Edinburgh University — A Sad Disappointment — Original of Professor Challenger — Of Sherlock Holmes — Deductions — Sheffield — Ruyton — Birmingham — Literary Aspirations — First Ac¬ cepted Story — My Father’s Death — Mental Posi¬ tion — Spiritual Yearnings — An Awkward Busi¬ ness. IV Whaling in the Arctic Ocean . The Hope — John Gray — Boxing — The Terrible Mate — Our Criminal — First Sight of a Woman — A Hurricane — Dangers of the Fishing — Three Dips in the Arctic — The Idlers’ Boat — Whale Taking — Glamour of the Arctic — Effect of Voyage. V The Voyage to West Africa . The Mayumba — Fearful Weather — An Escape — Hanno’s Voyage — Atlantis — A Land of Death — Blackwater Fever — Missionaries — Strange Fish — Danger of Luxury — A Foolish Swim — • The Ship on Fire — England Once More. VI My First Experiences in Practice .... A Strange Character — His Honeymoon — His Bris¬ tol Practice — Telegram from Plymouth — Six Amusing Weeks — A Deep Plot — My Southsea Venture — Furnishing on the Cheap — The Plot Explodes. v PACK 1 8 17 29 42 52 Contents vi CHAPTER ' PAGE YII My Start at Southsea . 59 A Strange Life — Arrival of My Brother — I Buy Up a Shop — Cheap Servants — Queer Patients — Dangers of Medical Practice — Income Tax Joke — My Marriage — Tragedy in My House — A New Phase. VIII My First Literary Success . ... . • 67 New Outlook — James Payn — Genesis of Holmes — “ A Study in Scarlet ” — Micah Clarke — Disap¬ pointments — Andrew Lang — Cornhill Dinner — Oscar Wilde — His Criticism of Himself — “ The White Company.” IX Pulling Up the Anchor . 77 Psychic Studies — Experiments in Telepathy — My First Seances — A Curious Test — General Dray- son — Opinion on Theosophy — A. P. Sinnett — W. T. Stead — Journey to Berlin — Koch’s Treat¬ ment — Brutality of Bergmann — Malcolm Mor¬ ris — Literary Society — Political Work — Arthur Balfour — Our Departure. X The Great Break . 88 Vienna — A Specialist in Wimpole Street — The Great Decision — Norwood — “ The Eefugees ” — Eeported Death of Holmes. XI Sidelights on Sherlock Holmes . . . . 96 “ The Speckled Band ” — Barrie’s Parody on Holmes — Holmes on the Films — Methods of Construc¬ tion — Problems — Curious Letters — Some Per¬ sonal Cases — Strange Happenings. XII Norwood and Switzerland . Ill Psychic Eesearch Society — Psychic Leanings — Lit¬ erary Circles in London — Young Writers — Henry Irving — A Great Blow — Davos — “ Brig¬ adier Gerard ” — Major Pond — American Lec¬ turing in 1894 — First Lecture — Anti-British Wave — Answer to Prayer. XIII Egypt in 1896 . 121 Life in Egypt — Accident — The Men Who Made Egypt — Up the Nile — The Salt Lakes — Adven¬ ture in the Desert — The Coptic Monastery — Colonel Lewis — A Surprise. Contents chapter XIV On the Edge of a Storm . The Storm Centre — To the Frontier — Assouan — Excited Officers — With the Press Men — A Long Camel Ride — Night Marches — Haifa — Gwynne of the “ Morning Post ” — Anley — A Sudden Voyage — Apricots and Rousseau. XV An Interlude of Peace . Hindhead — “A Duet ” — A Haunted House — A Curious Society — Preternatural Powers — The Little Doctop— - The Shadow of Africa. XVI The Starj -jtto South Africa . The — Black Week — V olunteering — The Langman Hospital — The Voyage — Bloemfontein — Sir Claude de Crespigny — The Epidemic — Advance to the Water Works. XVII Days with the Army . Pole-Carew — Tucker — Snipers — The Looted Farm — Taking of Brandfort — Artillery Engagement — Advance of the Guards — The Wounded Scout — The Dead Australian — Return. XVIII Final Experiences in South Africa . Military Jealousies — Football — Cracked Ribs — A Mutiny — DeWet — A Historian under Difficulties — Pretoria — Lord Roberts — With the Boers — Memorable Operation — Altercation. XIX An Appeal to the World’s Opinion .... Misrepresentation — A Sudden Resolve — Reginald Smith — A Week’s Hard Work — “ The Cause and Conduct of the War ” — Translations — Ger¬ man Letter — Complete Success — Surplus. XX My Political Adventures . Central Edinburgh — A Knock-out — The Border Burghs — Tariff Reform — Heckling — Interpo¬ lations — Defeat — Reflections. XXI The Years Between the Wars . “ History of the War” — Sir Oliver Lodge — Mili¬ tary Arguments — “Sir Nigel” — The Edalji Case — Crowborough — The Oscar Slater Case. XXII The Years Between the Wars .... Constantinople — The Night of Power — A Strange Creature — Dorando — Dramatic Adventures — The Congo Agitation — Olympic Games — Divorce Reform — Psychic Experience — Speculation. • • Vll TAGE 130 140 148 160 174 184 195 204 222 viii Contents CHAPTER , PAGE XXIII Some Notable People . 236 President Roosevelt — Lord Balfour — Mr. Asquith — Lord Haldane — George Meredith — Rudyard Kipling — James Barrie — Henry Irving — Ber¬ nard Shaw — R. L. S. — Grant Allen — J ames Payn — Henry Thompson — Royalty. XXI Y Some Recollections op Sport . . .262 Racing — Shooting — A Fish Story - — Boxing — Past and Present — Carpentier and France — The Reno Fight — Football — Golf with the Sirdar — Bil¬ liards — Cricket — W. G. Grace — Queer Experi¬ ences — Tragic Matches — Humiliation — Success in Holland — Barrie’s Team — A Precedent — Motor Accidents — Prince Henry Tour — Avia¬ tion — The Balloon and the Aeroplane — Ski — Over a Precipice — Rifle Shooting. XXV To tile Rocky Mountains in 1914 .... 287 Baseball — Parkman — Ticonderoga — Prairie Towns — Procession of Ceres — Relics of the Past — A Moose — Prospects for Emigrants — Jasper Park — The Great Divide — Algonquin Park. XXYI The Eve of War . 304 The Prologue of Armageddon — The “ Prince Henry ” Race: — Bernhardi — “England and the Next War” — “Danger” — General Sir H. Wilson — The Channel Tunnel — Naval Defects — Rubber Collars — Mines — Willie Redmond. XXYII A Remembrance of the Dark Years . . . 323 Nightmares of the Morning — The Civilian Reserve — The Volunteers — Domestic Life in War Time — German Prisoners — Cipher to Our Prisoners — Sir John French — Empress Eugenie — Miracle Town — Armour — Our Tragedy. XXVIII Experiences on the British Front . . . 335 Lord Newton — How I Got Out — Sir W. Robertson — The Destroyer — First Experience of Trenches — Ceremony at Bethune — Mother — The Ypres Salient — Ypres — The Hull Territorial — Gen¬ eral Sir Douglas Haig — Artillery Duel — Kings¬ ley — Major Wood — Paris. Contents ix CHAPTER PAGE XXIX Experiences on the Italian Front . . . 353 The Polite Front — Udine — Under Fire — Carnic Alps — Italia Irredenta — Trentino — The Voice of the Holy Roman Empire. XXX Experiences on the French Front . . . 360 A Dreadful Reception — Robert Donald — Clemen- ceau — Soissons Cathedral — The Commandant’s Cane — The Extreme Outpost — Adonis — Gen¬ eral Henneque — Cyrano in the Argonne — Tir Rapide — French Canadian — Wound Stripes. XXXI Breaking the Hindenburg Line .... 373 Lloyd George — My Second Excursion — The Far¬ thest German Point — Sir Joseph Cook — Night before the Day of Judgment — The Final Battle — On a Tank — Horrible Sight — Speech to Aus¬ tralians — The Magic Carpet. XXXII The Psychic Quest . 387 ILLUSTRATIONS Arthur Conan Doyle ........ Frontispiece PAGE My Mother at 17 . 12 Steam-whaler Hope . 36 Staff of the Langman Hospital . 157 Lady Conan Doyle . 222 The Family in the Wilds of Canada . 298 Kingsley Conan Doyle . 350 On the French Front . 365 CHAPTER I EARLY RECOLLECTIONS Extraction — “ H. B.” — Four Remarkable Brothers — My Mother’s Family Tree — An Unrecognized Genius — My First Knockout — Thackeray — The Fenians — Early Reading — My First Story. T WAS born on May 22, 1859, at Picardy Place, Edinburgh, so named because in old days a colony of French Huguenots bad settled there. At the time of their coming it was a village outside the City walls, hut now it is at the end of Queen Street, abutting upon Leith Walk. When last I visited it, it seemed to have degenerated, hut at that time the flats were of good repute. My father was the youngest son of John Doyle, who under the nom de crayon of “ H. B.” made a great reputation in London from about 1825 to 1850. He came from Dublin about the year 1815 and may be said to be the father of polite caricature, for in the old days satire took the brutal shape of making the object grotesque in features and figure. Gilray and Rowlandson had no other idea. My grandfather was a gen¬ tleman, drawing gentlemen for gentlemen, and the satire lay in the wit of the picture and not in the misdrawing of faces. This was a new idea, but it has been followed by most cari¬ caturists since and so has become familiar. There were no comic papers in those days, and the weekly cartoon of “ H. B.” was lithographed and distributed. He exerted, I am told, quite an influence upon politics, and was on terms of intimacy with many of the leading men of the day. I can remember him in his old age, a very handsome and dignified man with features of the strong Anglo-Irish, Duke of Wellington stamp. He died in 1868. My grandfather was left a widower with a numerous family, of which four boys and one girl survived. Each of the boys made a name for himself, for all inherited the artistic powers of their father. The elder, James Doyle, wrote “ The Chron- 2 Memories and Adventures icles of England,” illustrated with coloured pictures by him¬ self — examples of colour-printing which beat any subsequent work that I have ever seen. He also spent thirteen years in doing “ The Official Baronage of England,” a wonderful mon¬ ument of industry and learning. Another brother was Henry Doyle, a great judge of old paintings, and in later years the manager of the National Gallery in Dublin, . where he earned his C.B. The third son was Richard Doyle, whose whimsical humour made him famous in “ Punch,” the cover of which with its dancing elves is still so familiar an object. Finally came Charles Doyle, my father. The Doyle family seem to have been fairly well-to-do, thanks to my grandfather’s talents. They lived in London in Cam¬ bridge Terrace. A sketch of their family life is given in u Dicky Doyle’s Diary.” They lived up to their income, how¬ ever, and it became necessary to find places for the boys. When my father was only nineteen a seat was offered him in the Government Office of Works in Edinburgh, whither he went. There he spent his working life, and thus it came about that I, an Irishman by extraction, was born in the Scottish capital. The Doyles, Anglo-Norman in origin, were strong Roman Catholics. The original Doyle, or D’Oil, was a cadet-branch of the Staffordshire Doyles, which has produced Sir Francis Hastings Doyle and many other distinguished men. This cadet shared in the invasion of Ireland and was granted estates in County Wexford, where a great clan rose of dependants, illegitimate children and others, all taking the feudal lord’s name, just as the de Burghs founded the clan of Burke. We can only claim to be the main stem by virtue of community of character and appearance with the English Doyles and the unbroken use of the same crest and coat-of-arms. My forbears, like most old Irish families in the south, kept to the old faith at the Reformation and fell victims to the penal laws in consequence. These became so crushing upon landed gentry that my great-grandfather was driven from his estate and became a silk-mercer in Dublin, where “ H. B.” was born. This family record was curiously confirmed by Mon¬ signor Barry Doyle, destined, I think, for the highest honours Early Recollections 3 of the Roman Church, who traces hack to the younger brother of my great-grandfather. I trust the reader will indulge me in my excursion into these family matters, which are of vital interest to the family, but must be tedious to the outsider. As I am on the subject, I wish to say a word upon my mother’s family, the more so as she was great on archaeology, and had, with the help of Sir Arthur Vicars, Ulster King of Arms, and himself a rela¬ tive, worked out her descent for more than five hundred years, and so composed a family tree which lies before me as I write and on which many of the great ones of the earth have roosted. Her father was a young doctor of Trinity College, William Holey, who died young and left his family in comparative poverty. He had married one Katherine Pack, whose death¬ bed — or rather the white waxen thing which lay upon that bed — is the very earliest recollection of my life. Her near relative — uncle, I think — was Sir Denis Pack, who led the Scottish brigade at Waterloo. The Packs were a fighting fam¬ ily, as was but right since they were descended in a straight line from a major in Cromwell’s army who settled in Ireland. One of them, Anthony Pack, had part of his head carried off at the same battle, so I fear it is part of our family tradition that we lose our heads in action. His brain was covered over by a silver plate and he lived for many years, subject only to very bad fits of temper, which some of us have had with less excuse. But the real romance of the family lies in the fact that about the middle of the seventeenth century the Reverend Rich¬ ard Pack, who was head of Kilkenny College, married Mary Percy, who was heir to the Irish branch of the Percys of Northumberland. By this alliance we all connect up (and I have every generation by name, as marked out by my dear mother) with that illustrious line up to three separate mar¬ riages with the Plantagenets. One has, therefore, some strange strains in one’s blood which are noble in origin and, one can but hope, are noble in tendency. But all this romance of ancestry did not interfere with the fact that when Katherine Pack, the Irish gentlewoman, came 4 Memories and Adventures in her widowhood to Edinburgh, she was very poor. I have never been clear why it was Edinburgh for which she made. Having taken a flat she let it be known that a paying-guest would be welcome. Just at this time, 1850 or thereabouts, Charles Doyle was sent from London with a recommendation to the priests that they should guard his young morals and budding faith. How could they do this better than by finding him quarters with a well-born and orthodox widow? Thus it came about that two separate lines of Irish wanderers came together under one roof. I have a little bundle of my father’s letters written in those days, full of appreciation of the kindness which he met with and full, also, of interesting observations on that Scottish soci¬ ety, rough, hard-drinking and kindly, into which he had been precipitated at a dangerously early age, especially for one with his artistic temperament. He had some fine religious instincts, but his environment was a difficult one. In the household was a bright-eyed, very intelligent younger daugh¬ ter, Mary, who presently went off to France and returned as a very cultivated young woman. The romance is easily understood, and so Charles Doyle in the year 1855 married Mary Foley, my mother, the young couple still residing with my grandmother. Their means were limited, for his salary as a Civil Servant was not more than about £240. This he supplemented by his drawings. Thus matters remained for practically all his life, for he was quite unambitious and no great promotion ever came his way. His painting was done spasmodically and the family did not always reap the benefit, for Edinburgh is full of water-colours which he had given away. It is one of my unfulfilled schemes to collect as many as possible and to have a Charles Doyle exhibition in London, for the critics would he surprised to find what a great and original artist he was — far the greatest, in my opinion, of the family. His brush was concerned not only with fairies and delicate themes of the kind, but with wild and fearsome subjects, so that his work had a very peculiar style of its own, mitigated by great natural humour. He was more terrible than Blake and less morbid than Wiertz. His originality is best shown by the fact that Early Recollections 5 one hardly knows with whom to compare him. In prosaic Scotland, however, he excited wonder rather than admiration, and he was only known in the larger world of London by pen and ink hook-illustrations which were not his best mode of expression. The prosaic outcome was that including all his earnings my mother could never have averaged more than £300 a year on which to educate a large family. We lived in the hardy and bracing atmosphere of poverty and we each in turn did our best to help those who were younger than ourselves. My noble sister Annette, who died just as the sunshine of better days came into our lives, went out at a very early age as a governess to Portugal and sent all her salary home. My younger sisters, Lottie and Connie, both did the same thing; and I helped as I could. But it was still my dear mother who bore the long, sordid strain. Often I said to her, “ When you are old, Mammie, you shall have a velvet dress and gold glasses and sit in comfort by the fire.” Thank God, it so came to pass. My father, I fear, was of little help to her, for his thoughts were always in the clouds and he had no appre¬ ciation of the realities of life. The world, not the family, gets the fruits of genius. Of my boyhood I need say little, save that it was Spartan at home and more Spartan at the Edinburgh school where a tawse-brandishing schoolmaster of the old type made our young lives miserable. From the age of seven to nine I suffered under this pock-marked, one-eyed rascal who might have stepped from the pages of Dickens. In the evenings home and books were my sole consolation, save for week-end holidays. My comrades were rough boys and I became a rough boy, too. If there is any truth in the idea of reincarnation — a point on which my mind is still open — I think some earlier experience of mine must have been as a stark fighter, for it came out strongly in youth, when I rejoiced in battle. We lived for some time in a cut de sac street with a very vivid life of its own and a fierce feud between the small boys who dwelt on either side of it. Finally it was fought out between two champions, I rep¬ resenting the poorer boys who lived in flats and my opponent the richer boys who lived in the opposite villas. We fought in the garden of one of the said villas and had an excellent 6 Memories and Adventures contest of many rounds, not being strong enough to weaken each other. When I got home after the battle, my mother cried, “ Oh, Arthur, what a dreadful eye you have got ! ” To which I relied, “ You just go across and look at Eddie Tulloch’s eye ! ” I met a well-deserved setback on one occasion when I stood forward to fight a bootmaker’s boy, who had come into our preserve upon an errand. He had a green baize bag in his hand which contained a heavy boot, and this he swung against my skull with a force which knocked me pretty well senseless. It was a useful lesson. I will say for myself, however, that though I was pugnacious I was never so to those weaker than myself and that some of my escapades were in the defence of such. As I will show in my chapter on Sport, I carried on my tastes into a later period of my life. One or two little pictures stand out which may be worth recording. When my grandfather’s grand London friends passed through Edinburgh they used, to our occasional em¬ barrassment, to call at the little flat “to see how Charles is getting on.” In my earliest childhood such a one came, tall, white-haired and affable. I was so young that it seems like a faint dream, and yet it pleases me to think that I have sat on Thackeray’s knee. He greatly admired my dear little mother with her grey Irish eyes and her vivacious Celtic ways — indeed, no one met her without being captivated by her. Once, too, I got a glimpse of history. It was in 1866, if my dates are right, that some well-to-do Irish relatives asked us over for a few weeks, and we passed that time in a great house in King’s County. I spent much of it with the horses and dogs, and became friendly with the young groom. The stables opened on to a country road by an arched gate with a loft over it. One morning, being in the yard, I saw the young groom rush into the yard with every sign of fear and hastily shut and bar the doors. He then climbed into the loft, beckoning to me to come with him. From the loft window we saw a gang of rough men, twenty or so, slouching along the road. When they came opposite to the gate they stopped and looking up shook their fists and cursed at us. The groom answered back most volubly. Afterwards I understood that 7 Early Recollections these men were a party of Fenians, and that I had had a glimpse of one of the periodical troubles which poor old Ireland has endured. Perhaps now, at last, they may be drawing to an end. During these first ten years I was a rapid reader, so rapid that some small library with which we dealt gave my mother notice that books would not be changed more than twice a day. My tastes were boylike enough, for Mayne Reid was my favour¬ ite author, and his “ Scalp Hunters ” my favourite book. I wrote a little book and illustrated it myself in early days. There was a man in it and there was a tiger who amalgamated shortly after they met. I remarked to my mother with pre¬ cocious wisdom that it was easy to get people into scrapes, but not so easy to get them out again, which is surely the experience of every writer of adventures. CHAPTER II UNDER THE JESUITS The Preparatory School — The Mistakes of Education — Spartan School¬ ing — Corporal Punishment — Well-known School Fellows — Gloomy Forecasts — Poetry — London Matriculation — German School — A Happy Year — The Jesuits — Strange Arrival in Paris. I WAS in my tenth year when I was sent to Hodder, which is the preparatory school for Stonyhurst, the big Roman Catholic public school in Lancashire. It was a long journey for a little hoy who had never been away from home before, and I felt very lonesome and wept bitterly upon the way, but in due time I arrived safely at Preston, which was then the nearest station, and with many other small boys and our black- robed Jesuit guardians we drove some twelve miles to the school. Hodder is about a mile from Stonyhurst, and as all the boys there are youngsters under twelve, it forms a very useful institution, breaking a lad into school ways before he mixes with the big fellows. I had two years at Hodder. The year was not broken up by the frequent holidays which illuminate the present educa¬ tional period. Save for six weeks each summer, one never left the school. On the whole, those first two years were happy years. I could hold my own both in brain and in strength with my comrades. I was fortunate enough to get under the care of a kindly principal, one Eather Cassidy, who was more human than Jesuits usually are. I have always kept a warm remembrance of this man and of his gentle ways to the little boys — young rascals many of us — who were committed to his care. I remember the Franco-German War breaking out at this period, and how it made a ripple even in our secluded back-water. From Hodder I passed on to Stonyhurst, that grand medi¬ aeval dwelling-house which was left some hundred and fifty years ago to the J esuits, who brought over their whole teaching 9 Under the Jesuits staff from some college in Holland in order to carry it on as a public school. The general curriculum, like the building, was mediaeval but sound. I understand it has been modernized since. There were seven classes — elements, figures, rudiments, grammar, syntax, poetry and rhetoric — and you were allotted a year for each, or seven in all — a course with which I faith¬ fully complied, two having already been completed at Hodder. It was the usual public school routine of Euclid, algebra and the classics, taught in the usual way, which is calculated to leave a lasting abhorrence of these subjects. To give boys a little slab of Yirgil or Homer with no general idea as to what it is all about or what the classical age was like, is surely an absurd way of treating the subject. I am sure that an intelli¬ gent boy could learn more by reading a good translation of Homer for a week than by a year’s study of the original as it is usually carried out. It was no worse at Stonyhurst than at any other school, and it can only be excused on the plea that any exercise, however stupid in itself, forms a sort of mental dumb-bell by which one can improve one’s mind. It is, I think, a thoroughly false theory. I can say with truth that my Latin and Greek, which cost me so many weary hours, have been little use to me in life, and that my mathematics have been no use at all. On the other hand, some things which I picked up almost by accident, the art of reading aloud, learned when my mother was knitting, or the reading of Erench books, learned by spelling out the captions of the Jules Verne illustrations, have been of the greatest possible service. Hy classical education left me with a horror of the classics, and I was astonished to find how fascinating they were when I read them in a reasonable manner in later years. Year by year, then, I see myself climbing those seven weary steps and passing through as many stages of my boyhood. I do not know if the Jesuit system of education is good or not; I would need to have tried another system as well before I could answer that. On the whole it was justified by results, for I think it turned out as decent a set of young fellows as any other school would do. In spite of a large infusion of foreigners and some disaffected Irish, we were a patriotic crowd, and our little pulse beat time with the heart of the 10 Memories and Adventures nation. I am told that the average of V.C.’s and D.S.O.’s now held by old Stonyhurst boys is very high as compared with other schools. The Jesuit teachers have no trust in human nature, and perhaps they are justified. We were never allowed for an instant to be alone with each other, and I think that the immorality which is rife in public schools was at a mini¬ mum in consequence. In our games and our walks the priests always took part, and a master perambulated the dormitories at night. Such a system may weaken self-respect and self- help, but it at least minimizes temptation and scandal. The life was Spartan, and yet we had all that was needed. Dry bread and hot well-watered milk were our frugal breakfast. There was a “ joint ” and twice a week a pudding for dinner. Then there was an odd snack called “ bread and beer ” in the afternoon, a bit of dry bread and the most extraordinary drink, which was brown but had no other characteristic of beer. Finally, there was hot milk again, bread, butter, and often potatoes for supper. We were all very healthy on this regime , on Fridays. Everything in every way was plain to the verge of austerity, save that we dwelt in a beautiful build¬ ing, dined in a marble-floored hall with minstrels’ gallery, prayed in a lovely church, and generally lived in very choice surroundings so far as vision and not comfort was concerned. Corporal punishment was severe, and I can speak with feel¬ ing as I think few, if any, boys of my time endured more of it. It was of a peculiar nature, imported also, I fancy, from Holland. The instrument was a piece of india-rubber of the size and shape of a thick boot sole. This was called a “ Tolley ” — why, no one has explained, unless it is a Latin pun on what we had to bear. One blow of this instrument, delivered with intent, would cause the palm of the hand to swell up and change colour. When I say that the usual pun¬ ishment of the larger boys was nine on each hand, and that nine on one hand was the absolute minimum, it will be under¬ stood that it was a severe ordeal, and that the sufferer could not, as a rule, turn the handle of the door to get out of the room in which he had suffered. To take twice nine upon a cold day was about the extremity of human endurance. I think, however, that it was good for us in the end, for it was Under the Jesuits 11 a point of honour with many of us not to show that we were hurt, and that is one of the best trainings for a hard life. If I was more beaten than others it was not that I was in any way vicious, but it was that I had a nature which responded eagerly to affectionate kindness (which I never received), hut which rebelled against threats and took a perverted pride in showing that it would not be cowed by violence. I went out of my way to do really mischievous and outrageous things simply to show that my spirit was unbroken. An appeal to my better nature and not to my fears would have found an answer at once. I deserved all I got for what I did, but I did it because I was mishandled. I do not remember any one who attained particular distinc¬ tion among my school-fellows, save Bernard Partridge of “ Punch,” whom I recollect as a very quiet, gentle boy. Father Thurston, who was destined to be one of my opponents in psychic matters so many years later, was in the class above me. There was a young novice, too, with whom I hardly came in contact, but whose handsome and spiritual appearance I well remember. He was Bernard Vaughan, afterwards the famous preacher. Save for one school-fellow, James Ryan — a remarkable boy who grew into a remarkable man — I carried away no lasting friendship from Stonyhurst. It was only in the latest stage of my Stonyhurst develop¬ ment that I realized that I had some literary streak in me which was not common to all. It came to me as quite a sixr- prise, and even more perhaps to my masters, who had taken a rather hopeless view of my future prospects. One master, when I told him that I thought of being a civil engineer, re¬ marked, “ Well, Doyle, you may be an engineer, but I don’t think you will ever be a civil one.” Another assured me that I would never do any good in the world, and perhaps from his point of view his prophecy has been justified. The particular incident, however, which brought my latent powers to the surface depended upon the fact that in the second highest class, which I reached in 1874, it was incumbent to write poetry (so called) on any theme given. This was done as a dreary unnatural task by most boys. Very comical their woo- ings of the muses used to be. For one saturated as I really 12 Memories and Adventures was with affection for verse, it was a labour of love, and I pro¬ duced verses which were poor enough in themselves but seemed miracles to those who had no urge in that direction. The par¬ ticular theme was the crossing of the Red Sea by the Israelites and my effort from — “ Like pallid daisies in a grassy wood, So round the sward the tents of Israel stood through — “ There was no time for thought and none for fear. For Egypt’s horse already pressed their rear.” down to the climax — “ One horrid cry ! The tragedy was o’er, And Pharaoh with his army seen no more,” - was workmanlike though wooden and conventional. Anyhow, it marked what Mr. Stead used to call a signpost, and I real¬ ized myself a little. In the last year I edited the College magazine and wrote a good deal of indifferent verse. I also went up for the Matriculation examination of London Univer¬ sity, a good all-round test which winds up the Stonyhurst curriculum, and I surprised every one by taking honours, so after all I emerged from Stonyhurst at the age of sixteen with more credit than seemed probable from my rather questionable record. Early in my career there, an offer had been made to my mother that my school fees would be remitted if I were dedi¬ cated to the Church. She refused this, so both the Church and I had an escape. When I think, however, of her small income and great struggle to keep up appearances and make both ends meet, it was a fine example of her independence of character, for it meant paying out some £50 a year which might have been avoided by a word of assent. I had yet another year with the Jesuits, for it was deter¬ mined that I was still too young to begin any professional studies, and that I should go to Germany and learn German. MY MOTHER, AT 17. Drawn by Richard Doyle , July 1854, X 13 Under the Jesuits I wa9 despatched, therefore, to Eeldkirch, which is a Jesuit school in the Vorarlberg province of Austria, to which many better-class German hoys are sent. Here the conditions were much more humane and I met with far more human kindness than at Stonyhurst, with the immediate result that I ceased to be a resentful young rebel and became a pillar of law and order. I began badly, however, for on the first night of my arrival I was kept awake by a boy snoring loudly in the dormitory. I stood it as long as I could, but at last I was driven to action. Curious wooden compasses called bett-scheere, or “ bed-scissors,” were stuck into each side of the narrow beds. One of these I plucked out, walked down the dormitory, and, having spotted the offender, proceeded to poke him with my stick. He awoke and was considerably amazed to see in the dim light a large youth whom he had never seen before — I arrived after hours — assaulting him with a club. I was still engaged in stirring him up when I felt a touch on my shoulder and was confronted hy the master, who ordered me back to bed. Next morning I got a lecture on free-and-easy English ways, and taking the law into my own hands. But this start was really my worst lapse and I did well in the future. It was a happy year on the whole. I made less progress with German than I should, for there were about twenty Eng¬ lish and Irish boys who naturally balked the wishes of their parents by herding together. There was no cricket, but there were toboganning and fair football and a weird game — foot¬ ball on stilts. Then there were the lovely mountains round us, with an occasional walk among them. The food was better than at Stonyhurst and we had the pleasant German light beer instead of the horrible swipes of Stonyhurst. One unlooked- for accomplishment I acquired, for the boy who played the big brass bass instrument in the fine school band had not returned, and, as a well-grown lad was needed, I was at once enlisted in the service. I played in public — good music, too, “ Lohengrin,” and “ Tannhauser,” — within a week or two of my first lesson, but they pressed me on for the occasion and the Bombardon, as it was called, only comes in on a measured rhythm with an occasional run, which sounds like a hippopota- 14 Memories and Adventures mus doing a step-dance. So big was the instrument that I remember the other bandsmen putting my sheets and blankets inside it and my surprise when I could not get out a note. It was in the summer of 1876 that I left Feldkirch, and I have always had a pleasant memory of the Austrian Jesuits and of the old schools. Indeed I have a kindly feeling towards all Jesuits, far as I have strayed from their paths. I see now both their limita¬ tions and their virtues. They have been slandered in some things, for during eight years of constant contact I cannot remember that they were less truthful than their fellows, or more casuistical than their neighbours. They were keen, clean-minded earnest men, so far as I knew them, with a few black sheep among them, but not many, for the process of selection was careful and long. In all ways, save in their theology, they were admirable, though this same theology made them hard and inhuman upon the surface, which is indeed the general effect of Catholicism in its more extreme forms. The convert is lost to the family. Their hard, nar¬ row outlook gives the Jesuits driving power, as is noticeable in the Puritans and all hard, narrow creeds. They are de¬ voted and fearless and have again and again, both in Canada, in South America and in China, been the vanguard of civiliza¬ tion to their own grievous hurt. They are the old guard of the Roman Church. But the tragedy is that they, who would gladly give their lives for the old faith, have in effect helped to ruin it, for it is they, according to Father Tyrrell and the modernists, who have been at the back of all those extreme doctrines of papal infallibility and Immaculate Conception, with a general all-round tightening of dogma, which have made it so difficult for the man with scientific desire for truth or with intellectual self-respect to keep within the Church. For some years Sir Charles Mivart, the last of Catholic Scientists, tried to do the impossible, and then he also had to leave go his hold, so that there is not, so far as I know, one single man of outstanding fame in science or in general thought who is a practising Catholic. This is the work of the extremists and is deplored by many of the moderates and fiercely condemned by the modernists. It depends also upon the inner Italian 15 Under the Jesuits directorate who give the orders. Nothing can exceed the un¬ compromising bigotry of the Jesuit theology, or their apparent ignorance of how it shocks the modern conscience. I remem¬ ber that when, as a grown lad, I heard Father Murphy, a great tierce Irish priest, declare that there was sure damna¬ tion for every one outside the Church, I looked upon him with horror, and to that moment I trace the first rift which has grown into such a chasm between me and those who were my guides. On my way back to England I stopped at Paris. Through all my life up to this point there had been an unseen grand¬ uncle, named Michael Conan, to whom I must now devote a paragraph. He came into the family from the fact that my father’s father (“ H. B.”) had married a Miss Conan. Michael Conan, her brother, had been editor of “ The Art Journal ” and was a man of distinction, an intellectual Irishman of the type which originally founded the Sinn Eein movement. He was as keen on heraldry and genealogy as my mother, and he traced his descent in some circuitous way from the Dukes of Brittany, who were all Conans; indeed Arthur Conan was the ill-fated young Duke whose eyes were put out, according to Shakespeare, by King John. This uncle was my godfather, and hence my name Arthur Conan. He lived in Paris and had expressed a wish that his grand¬ nephew and godson, with whom he had corresponded, should call en passant. I ran my money affairs so closely, after a rather lively supper at Strasburg, that when I reached Paris I had just twopence in my pocket. As I could not well drive up and ask my uncle to pay the cab I left my trunk at the station and set forth on foot. I reached the river, walked along it, came to the foot of the Champs £lysees, saw the Arc de Triomphe in the distance, and then, knowing that the Avenue Wagram, where my uncle lived, was near there, I tramped it on a hot August day and finally found him. I remember that I was exhausted with the heat and the walking, and that when at the last gasp I saw a man buy a drink of what seemed to be porter by handing a penny to a man who had a long tin on his back, I therefore halted the man and spent one of my pennies on a duplicate drink. It proved to be liquorice and 16 Memories and Adventures water, but it revived me when I badly needed it, and it could not be said that I arrived penniless at my uncle’s, for I actually had a penny. So, for some penurious weeks, I was in Paris with this dear old volcanic Irishman, who spent the summer day in his shirt¬ sleeves, with a little dicky-bird of a wife waiting upon him. I am built rather on his lines of body and mind than on any of the Doyles. We made a true friendship, and then I re¬ turned to my home conscious that real life was about to begin. CHAPTER III RECOLLECTION'S OF A STUDENT Edinburgh University — A Sad Disappointment — Original of Professor Challenger — Of Sherlock Holmes — Deductions — Sheffield — Euyton — Birmingham — Literary Aspirations — First Accepted Story — My Father’s Death — Mental Position — Spiritual Yearnings — An Awk¬ ward Business. W HEIST I returned to Edinburgh, with little to show, either mental or spiritual, for my pleasant school year in Germany, I found that the family affairs were still as straitened as ever. Ho promotion had come to my father, and two younger children, Innes, my only brother, and Ida, had arrived to add to the calls upon my mother. Another sister, Julia, followed shortly afterwards. But Annette, the eldest sister, had already gone out to Portugal to earn and send home a fair salary, while Lottie and Connie were about to do the same. My mother had adopted the device of sharing a large house, which may have eased her in some ways, but was dis¬ astrous in others. Perhaps it was good for me that the times were hard, for I was wild, full-blooded, and a trifle reckless, but the situation called for energy and application, so that one was bound to try to meet it. My mother had been so splendid that we could not fail her. It had been determined that I should he a doctor, chiefly, I think, because Edinburgh was so famous a centre for medical learning. It meant another long effort for my mother, but she was very brave and ambitious where her chil¬ dren were concerned, and I was not only to have a medical education, but to take the University degree, which was a larger matter than a mere licence to practise. When I re¬ turned from Germany I found that there was a long list of bursaries and scholarships open for competition. I had a month in which to brush up my classics and then I went in for these, and was informed a week later that I had won the 18 Memories and Adventures Grierson bursary of £40 for two years. Great were the rejoic¬ ings and all shadows seemed to be lifting. But on calling to get the money I was informed that there had been a clerical error, and that this particular bursary was only open to arts students. As there was a long list of prizes I naturally sup¬ posed that I would get the next highest, which was available for medicals. The official pulled a long face and said : “ Un¬ fortunately the candidate to whom it was allotted has already drawn the money.” It was manifest robbery, and yet I, who had won the prize and needed it so badly, never received it, and was eventually put off with a solatium of £7, which had accumulated from some fund. It was a bitter disappointment and, of course, I had a legal case, but what can a penniless student do, and what sort of college career would he have if he began it by suing his University for money? I was ad¬ vised to accept the situation, and there seemed no prospect of accepting anything else. So now behold me, a tall strongly-framed but half-formed young man, fairly entered upon my five years’ course of medical study. It can be done with diligence in four years, but there came, as I shall show, a glorious interruption which held me back for one year. I entered as a student in October 1876, and I emerged as a Bachelor of Medicine in August 1881. Between these two points lies one long weary grind at botany, chemistry, anatomy, physiology, and a whole list of compulsory subjects, many of which have a very indirect bearing upon the art of curing. The whole system of teaching, as I look back upon it, seems far too oblique and not nearly practical enough for the purpose in view. And yet Edinburgh is, I believe, more practical than most other colleges. It is practi¬ cal, too, in its preparation for life, since there is none of the atmosphere of an enlarged public school, as is the case in Eng¬ lish Universities, but the student lives a free man in his own rooms with no restrictions of any sort. It ruins some and makes strong men of many. In my own case, of course, this did not apply, since my family lived in the town, and I worked from my owu home. There was no attempt at friendship, or even acquaintance, between professors and students at Edinburgh. It- was a Recollections of a Student 19 strictly business arrangement by which you paid, for example, four guineas for Anatomy lectures and received the winter course in exchange, never seeing your professor save behind his desk and never under any circumstances exchanging a word with him. They were remarkable men, however, some of these professors, and we managed to know them pretty well without any personal acquaintance. There was kindly Crum Brown, the chemist, who sheltered himself carefully before exploding some mixture, which usually failed to ignite, so that the loud “ Boom ! ” uttered by the class was the only resulting sound. Brown would emerge from his retreat with a “ Eeally, gentle¬ men ! ” of remonstrance, and go on without allusion to the abortive experiment. There was Wyville Thomson, the zoolo¬ gist, fresh from his Challenger expedition, and Balfour, with the face and manner of John Knox, a hard rugged old man, who harried the students in their exams, and was in conse¬ quence harried by them for the rest of the year. There was Turner, a fine anatomist, but a self-educated man, as was be¬ trayed when he used to “take and put this structure on the handle of this scalpel.” The most human trait that I can recall of Turner was that upon one occasion the sacred quadrangle was invaded by snowballing roughs. His class, of whom I was one, heard the sounds of battle and fidgeted in their seats, on which the Professor said : “ I think, gentlemen, your presence may be more useful outside than here,” on which we flocked out with a whoop, and soon had the quadrangle clear. Most vividly of all, however, there stands out in my memory the squat figure of Professor Rutherford with his Assyrian beard, his prodigious voice, his enormous chest and his singular manner. He fascinated and awed us. I have endeavoured to reproduce some of his peculiarities in the fictitious character of Professor Challenger. He would sometimes start his lecture before he reached the classroom, so that we would hear a boom¬ ing voice saying : “ There are valves in the veins,” or some other information, when the desk was still empty. He was, I fear, a rather ruthless vivisector, and though I have always recognized that a minimum of painless vivisection is neces¬ sary, and far more justifiable than the eating of meat as a food, I am glad that the law was made more stringent so as 20 Memories and Adventures to restrain such men as he. “ Xch, these Jarman Frags!” he would exclaim in his curious accent, as he tore some poor amphibian to pieces. I wrote a students’ song which is still sung, I understand, in which a curious article is picked up on the Portobello beach and each Professor in turn claims it for his department. Rutherford’s verse ran: Said Rutherford with a smile, “ It’s a mass of solid bile. And I myself obtained it, what is more. By a stringent cholagogue From a vivisected dog, And I lost it on the Portobello Shore.” If the song is indeed still sung it may he of interest to the present generation to know that I was the author. But the most notable of the characters whom I met was one Joseph Bell, surgeon at the Edinburgh Infirmary. Bell was a very remarkable man in body and mind. He was thin, wiry, dark, with a high-nosed acute face, penetrating grey eyes, angular shoulders, and a jerky way of walking. His voice was high and discordant. He was a very skilful surgeon, but his strong point was diagnosis, not only of disease, but of occupation and character. For some reason which I have never understood he singled me out from the drove of students who frequented his wards and made me his out-patient clerk, which meant that I had to array his out-patients, make simple notes of their cases, and then show them in, one by one, to the large room in which Bell sat in state surrounded by his dressers and students. Then I had ample chance of studying his methods and of noticing that he often learned more of the patient by a few- quick glances than I had done by my questions. Occa¬ sionally the results were very dramatic, though there were times when he blundered. In one of his best cases he said to a civilian patient : “ Well, my man, you’ve served in the army.” “Aye, sir.” “Hot long discharged? ” “ Ho, sir.” “ A Highland regiment ? ” Recollections of a Student 21 “ Aye, sir.” “ A non-com. officer.” “ Aye, sir.” “ Stationed at Barbados ? ” “Aye, sir.” “ You see, gentlemen,” be would explain, “ tbe man was a respectful man but did not remove bis bat. They do not in the army, but he would have learned civilian ways had he been long discharged. He has an air of authority and he is obviously Scottish. As to Barbados, his complaint is ele¬ phantiasis, which is West Indian and not British.” To his audience of Watsons it all seemed very miraculous until it was explained, and then it became simple enough. It is no wonder that after the study of such a character I used and amplified his methods when in later life I tried to build up a scientific detective who solved cases on his own merits and not through the folly of the criminal. Bell took a keen interest in these detective tales and even made suggestions which were not, I am bound to say, very practical. I kept in touch with him for many years and he used to come upon my platform to support me when I contested Edinburgh in 1901. When I took over his out-patient work he warned me that a knowledge of Scottish idioms was necessary and I, with the confidence of youth, declared that I had got it. The sequel was amusing. On one of the first days an old man came who, in response to my question, declared that he had a “ healin’ in his oxter,” This fairly beat me, much to Bell’s amusement. It seems that the words really mean an abscess in the arm-pit. Speaking generally of my University career I may say that though I took my fences in my stride and balked at none of them, still I won no distinction in the race. I was always one of the ruck, neither lingering nor gaining — a 60 per cent, man at examinations. There were, however, some reasons for this which I will now state. It was clearly very needful that I should help financially as quickly as possible, even if my help only took the humble form of providing for my own keep. Therefore I endeavoured almost from the first to compress the classes for a year into half a year, and so to have some months in which to earn a 22 Memories and Adventures little money as a medical assistant, who would dispense and do odd jobs for a doctor. When I first set forth to do this my services were so obviously worth nothing that I had to put that valuation upon them. Even then it might have been a hard bargain for the doctor, for I might have proved like the youth in “ Pickwick ” who had a rooted idea that oxalic acid was Epsom salts. However, I had horse sense enough to save myself and my employer from any absolute catastrophe. My first venture, in the early summer of ’78, was with a Hr. Richardson, running a low-class practice in the poorer quar¬ ters of Sheffield. I did my best, and I dare say he was patient, but at the end of three weeks we parted by mutual consent. I went on to London, where I renewed my advertisements in the medical papers, and found a refuge for some weeks with my Hoyle relatives, then living at Clifton Gardens, Maida Vale. I fear that I was too Bohemian for them and they too conven¬ tional for me. However, they were kind to me, and I roamed about London for some time with pockets so empty that there was little chance of idleness breeding its usual mischief. I remember that there were signs of trouble in the East and that the recruiting sergeants, who were very busy in Trafalgar Square, took my measure in a moment and were very in¬ sistent that I should take the shilling. There was a time when I was quite disposed to do so, but my mother’s plans held me back. I may say that late in the same year I did volunteer as a dresser for the English ambulances sent to Turkey for the Russian War, and was on the Red Cross list, but the collapse of the Turks prevented my going out. Soon, however, there came an answer to my advertisement: “ Third year’s student, desiring experience rather than re¬ muneration, offers his services, &c., &c.” It was from a Hr. Elliot living in a townlet in Shropshire which rejoiced in the extraordinary name of “ Ruyton-of-the-eleven-towns.” It was not big enough to make one town, far less eleven. There for four months I helped in a country practice. It was a very quiet existence and I had a good deal of time to myself under very pleasant circumstances, so that I really trace some little mental progress to that period, for I read and thought with¬ out interruption. My medical duties were of a routine nature Recollections of a Student 23 save on a few occasions. One of them still stands out in my memory, for it was the first time in my life that I ever had to test my own nerve in a great sudden emergency. The doctor was out when there came a half-crazed messenger to say that in some rejoicings at a neighbouring great house they had ex¬ ploded an old cannon which had promptly hurst and grievously injured one of the bystanders. dSTo doctor was available, so I was the last resource. On arriving there I found a man in bed with a lump of iron sticking out of the side of his head. I tried not to show the alarm which I felt, and I did the obvious thing by pulling out the iron. I could see the clean white hone, so I could assure them that the brain had not been in¬ jured. I then pulled the gash together, staunched the bleed¬ ing, and finally bound it up, so that when the doctor did at last arrive he had little to add. This incident gave me con¬ fidence and, what is more important still, gave others con¬ fidence. On the whole I had a happy time at Ruyton, and have a pleasing memory of Dr. Elliot and his wife. After a winter’s work at the University my next assistant- ship was a real money-making proposition to the extent of some two pounds a month. This was with Dr. Hoare, a well- known Birmingham doctor, who had a five-horse City practice, and every working doctor, before the days of motors, would realize that this meant going from morning to night. He earned some three thousand a year, which takes some doing, when it is collected from 3s. 6